


the taste of coffee

by everysundoesntrise



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, basically everyone laughs at how extra jack is, warning: this is cheesy as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everysundoesntrise/pseuds/everysundoesntrise
Summary: Jack doesn’t even like coffee but the barista is so cute that he can't stop himself from becoming a regular.AKA a javid coffee shop au because at the time I wrote the majority of this, there was none and I wanted to correct that.





	the taste of coffee

Jack regrets moving in with Race. Three months ago, it seemed like a great idea. Race was one of his best friends and there wasn’t any better option. He also really regrets asking his other friend Spot to come over one day to help them move in, regrets that Spot actually agreed for once in his life to help Jack with something, regrets introducing the two, because that ushered in the era of Race and Spot, who could never keep their hands off of each other after the first time they hooked up, regrets every single time he’s walked in on them when all he wanted was a nice view to sketch and despite what Race and Spot claim, they are far from a nice view.

And he has a life too, has deadlines. Art school deadlines that Race and Spot don’t seem to care about. And it’s not like he has any other place to go. Art requires beauty and a sort of a calming air that just lets the pencils and paints move without Jack having to think about it, lets Jack forget about everything that isn’t on the page and places like that, people like that are hard to come by. His mind drifts briefly and he walks straight into the first shop he sees outside his apartment. 

It’s a coffee shop and Jack thinks life is really just trying to fuck with him, really thinks it when he recognizes some of the designs and artwork along the wall as his own. He doesn’t even like coffee or tea or any drink besides water and alcohol, even if Katherine’s always forcing him to try stupid drinks like kombucha, because “It’s good for you, Jack. You didn’t get nutrients as a kid. I’m just looking out for you. Now stop being a smartass and drink it.” And it’s not like Jack has a lot of money on his hands. Whatever he has he has to put up for rent, for school, because being an orphan doesn’t get him as much financial aid as it should. But maybe, he could just sit here and draw; the air’s light here and although coffee shops normally scream hipster, this one isn’t too bad. It’ll have to do.

“To sit down, you have to buy something first. Those are the rules,” a voice from behind the counter calls out. 

And Jack was really just going to leave, go back to his apartment, try to kick Spot and Race out, but then he sees the face that the voice belongs to, “Ever think that rules are meant to be broken?”

The barista looks conflicted, like he doesn’t know how to respond, like he’s not used to (charming) guys like Jack waltzing into the coffee shop, “I would be really appreciated if you ordered something.” 

“Alright,” He puts his hands up, ceding the battle. “I’ll take uh-,” he doesn’t know anything about coffee, except that it taste bitter and people are snobs about it, tries to remember Katherine’s order from whenever she forces him to bring her coffee, “a small French Dark Roast?” he looks at the barista’s name tag, “Davey.” 

“My name tag says David.”

Jack smirks at him, resists the temptation to wink, “Davey’s cuter.” He leaves a tip and goes to sit by the window of the shop, looking at the view and picking up his pencil. He glances in Davey’s direction and thinks he may have some new kind of inspiration. 

Davey brings out his coffee after a couple minutes and Jack takes a minute to properly look at Davey, looks at his slightly awkward stance, his slightly disheveled hair, but Jack mainly focuses on his eyes, has never seen eyes quite that shade and Jack spends a good minute trying to think if he even has the right art supplies to draw that color.

Davey clears his throat, “Your coffee?”

Jack looks at the vile thing and sets it on the table in front of them, “You should take a seat.”

“I’m on shift.”

Jack rolls his eyes, gestures all around the shop, “There’s no one even here. I think you can afford to spend time with your new favorite customer.” He sees Davey’s cheeks tint red and it amazes Jack the sheer amount of colors he would need to even begin to capture Davey on paper. 

Jack thinks Davey might be too flustered to reply, because there’s silence for a couple minutes, before he finally speaks, “Aren’t you going to drink any of the coffee?” 

The coffee still remained at the edge of the table, untouched, and Jack’s really beginning to curse its existence; he thought he could just throw it out on his way out, maybe offer Katherine some lukewarm coffee, but now Davey’s staring at him, expecting something from him and he can’t let Davey down, not when he’s only known him for a couple minutes. His hands grab the cup and he downs it like a shot, better to get it over with as quick as possible. It’s moments like this that make him grateful for meals he was forced to endure when he was on the streets, grateful that he was conditioned to stomach anything that was passable as food. 

It’s a couple seconds after the taste of coffee has left his mouth when he hears Davey laugh (though Jack would be more inclined to classify it as a giggle) and Jack’s never considered himself to have a way with words, so all he can really say is that Davey’s laugh was something else.

“Have you never had coffee before?” He’s still laughing, but waves his hand toward Jack’s sketchbook, “Aren’t artists in this day and age meant to be tortured hipsters who practically live in coffeeshops?”

“Hey, just ‘cause I drink my coffee differently than you, doesn’t mean I never had it before,” he pretends to be offended, because he’s pretty sure coffee drinkers are always getting offended, “And I ain’t no hipster.” 

The door opens before Davey can even say anything else and suddenly Jack is left alone again, Davey back at the register and he finds that maybe he judged this place a little too harshly when he first came in, it’s a nice place to draw. Glancing once more at Davey, he sketches. 

The following day, after he finishes the summer art class he agreed to help teach (where one of the kids has become over eager to try to set up Jack with his brother), he decides he’s not going to go back to the coffee shop. He’ll kick Race and Spot out if he has to, because he needs to finish his portfolio before the end of the week and he’s not going to let his roommate screw this up for him, not when Jack’s offered to pay most of the rent because Race has been struggling a little more than usual. He tries to work on the sketch of Davey, but the inspiration isn’t there, not like it was before in the coffee shop, not when Davey’s not across from him smiling a dorky smile. 

Within ten minutes, he’s back in the coffeeshop from yesterday and he thinks he really should stop himself; this could become a dangerous habit, but Davey gives him a grin of recognition when Jack walks in the door and Jack’s lost all sense of self-preservation.

“Same thing as yesterday?” 

Remembering the taste of whatever he drank yesterday, he fights back the urge to shudder, “Yeah, hope the company comes along with it again. Or should I tip extra for that?” 

And Jack loves how easy it is to make Davey blush, loves how Davey can’t even fight it, that his whole face gets flushed, “That might be considered prostitution. Paying to talk to me, that is.” 

Paying and forcing himself to drink coffee, Jack adds in his head. “I think you’d come over to talk to me even if I didn’t tip you. Why don’t we try it out?” He shoves his change back in his pocket, neglects the tip jar and walks to the same area he sat yesterday.

Within a few minutes, Davey brings out his coffee, sets it on the table and looks almost pained as he finally makes the decision to sit with Jack, “I don’t even know your name.” 

He raises his eyebrow, “That’s part of the mystery then, isn’t it?” 

“Are you trying to be an edgy artist then?”

He laughs, “It’s Jack Kelly.”

“What are you drawing?” 

And it’s the first time that it’s Jack that feels embarrassed, feels his face flush, “Just some sketches for school.”

“Can I see them?”

Jack frowns; his art has always been personal, even beyond the sketch of Davey. He’s never really felt comfortable sharing it with anyone, maybe Katherine, or Race had seen a few of his pieces, but outside his classmates and teachers, no one’s really seen them. The subject matter of a lot of them wasn’t pretty, was a little too autobiographical, and the other ones were mostly Santa Fe and he got tired of explaining his longing to go there, didn’t even feel the same desire that he used to after he met Race and Spot, just didn’t have the same magic to it when it meant leaving people behind instead of escaping. He knows he can’t express that to Davey, doesn’t want Davey to see any side of him that isn’t put together, “Maybe some other time.” 

And maybe Davey understands more than Jack thought he would, because he just sort of nods and allows Jack to change the subject. Davey doesn’t even seem to notice that he never even drank the coffee when Jack finally leaves.

He ends up bringing the coffee to Katherine on the off chance she could somehow reheat it, so he doesn’t have to waste it; he hates wasting things. 

“What are you even doing with this, Jack Kelly?” and Jack doesn’t even know how to answer that without mentioning how interested he is in the barista that gave it to him.

“I thought I might like coffee now. Turns out I don’t.”

She sees right through it, “You’ve found someone at the coffeeshop to admire, haven’t you?” His sheepish look seems to serve as confirmation, “Oh, Jack Kelly, I thought you’d be better than to succumb to the cliche coffee shop romance.”

“Ace, I was just looking for a place to draw. It wasn’t my fault I found someone to draw instead.” 

She laughs at that, “That was one of the cheesiest things I have ever heard you say,” but she looks so proud of him as she says it that Jack can tell that some part of her is touched, “Who is the lucky person?” 

“His name’s Davey,” he starts, “But Ace, don’t mention this to the other guys. I’ll never hear the end of it if you tell Race or Spot or any of the others from the shelter.” 

There’s silence for a few minutes and Jack hates it; he can’t help but wonder if maybe that’s another part of the coffee shop’s appeal. Davey doesn’t know a thing about him or his life so Davey doesn’t treat him any differently, just smiles at Jack while Jack flirts so openly with him.

Katherine finally speaks, smiling widely, “I’m coming with you tomorrow to the coffee shop to see him.” Jack knows there’s nothing he can do to argue and that’s how Katherine ends up accompanying him to see Davey the next day. 

Davey doesn’t light up in the same way when he sees Jack (and Katherine) enter the next day. Instead, he frowns for a second before plastering on a slightly forced smile, “Same thing as usual?” 

Jack hears Katherine suppress a laugh at the fact Jack has a usual order, “Yeah, it’s for Kath.” 

Davey responds to Katherine’s subsequent small wave with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, “You always buying coffee for her then?”

And that’s not the reaction that Jack expected. Katherine, though, only grins wider, looking between the two of them. “As if Jack Kelly would be that kind. He just talks so much about this place, told me about their great customer service, so I figured I had to check it out.” She puts a little too much emphasis on the customer service part that Jack has to fight the urge to elbow her to get her to shut up.

Something Katherine said must’ve taken the edge of Davey, because he’s practically beaming, “Seems like Jack’s a bit of a handful.”

She nodes in response, before extending her hand across the counter. “It’s good to meet you, David. I’m Katherine. Been stuck with this coffee-obsessed kid since we became friends in our freshmen year of high school.”

“Good to know that some people understand that the name on my name tag is what I go by.” 

Jack shrugs, feigning innocence, “Davey fits you better.” 

Davey frowns in confusion, “Last time you said Davey was cuter.”

“Same thing,” He stops himself from smirking, from being coy, because Katherine’s here and she never lets him hear the end of it when he’s flirting, but he doesn’t stop himself from staring at Davey blushing.

“Jack, get us a table, will you?” Katherine gives him a pointed look, “I just want to talk to David here alone.”

And Jack knows it’s a terrible idea, leaving Katherine and Davey alone together; he knew it was a terrible idea to even bring her in the first place, but he can rarely win against Katherine (not that he’d ever admit that to her face) so he does as he’s told. Though, he still lets himself watch them, curious. He’s not sure what Katherine could possibly want to talk to Davey about, but it looks more serious, because Davey’s frowning a bit again and Katherine looks worried. When she sits next to Jack, coffee in hand, Davey doesn’t join him like normal and when Jack tries to ask what they talked about, Katherine just shrugs him off with a smile. 

Katherine has to leave twenty minutes later, something to do with journalism school, but Jack stays and draws.

Davey clears his throat at some point; Jack doesn’t know how long it’s been really only that it’s now dark out. He’s never really been good at keeping track of time, always gets absorbed when the inspiration hits, “We’re technically closed now.” 

“You didn’t come over today.”

Davey scratches the back of his neck, laughing slightly awkwardly, “Your friend, Katherine, she kind of scares me. Plus, I’m supposed to be at the counter, providing that great customer service you bragged about.” Jack only hums in response and he’s pretty sure he sees Davey resist the urge to roll his eyes, “I’m supposed to kick you out.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you want to.” His voices takes on a more suggestive tone, one that’s recently been reserved for Davey, “Besides, doesn’t Medda Larkin own this place? She owes me a couple favors anyway.” 

“Medda owes you favors?”

He just shrugs in response, embarrassed; he’s always found it hard to claim his artwork, even for simple things like the landscapes of Santa Fe he painted for Medda when she came to him before she opened this coffee shop. He doesn’t think they’re that impressive anyway, but people always seemed to look at him differently when they find out, because suddenly he’s not just some kid on the streets; no, he’s a kid on the streets with potential and then the pity follows. Katherine looks at him like that sometimes. 

“I kind of need this job, so if you’re lying and I get fired, it’ll really screw things up for me, Jack.” Davey looks worried, conflicted, like he’s rarely taken a risk in his life and Jack’s not so sure that he ever has. 

“I painted some stuff for her, for this shop, free of charge. And besides, if she gets mad, I’ll take the hit.”

It’s apparently enough to convince Davey, who’s sitting across from him seconds later, “How do you know Medda?” 

There’s hesitation before Jack speaks again, because it’s not information he’s used to sharing; most people just know or most people don’t care enough to ask. He can’t deny that it’s nice to have Davey separate from that part of his life, but he’s starting to like Davey a little too much to prevent Davey from getting to know him, “Medda’s really involved with helping out at homeless shelters.” 

The implications of Jack’s words take a couple seconds, painfully long seconds, to register with Davey, “Are-” he starts before stuttering as he trails off, waiting even longer before he tries to speak again, “Do you need somewhere to stay? My parents and siblings probably wouldn’t mind. They’re worried I don’t have enough friends anyway and it’s really not that big of a deal-”

Jack cuts Davey off before he rambles himself to exhaustion, “Don’t worry ‘bout it Davey. I got myself out of it. Work a lot of different jobs now, but learned a long time ago that complaining gets you nowhere.”

“It’s only fair that I know where you work since you bother me every day where I do.” 

“You’ll just have to find out yourself. The chase is part of the fun, isn’t it?”

Davey doesn’t reply to that, just kind of looks at Jack instead, “My dad, uh, his startup failed and he took a pretty hard hit. It’s half the reason I got this job.”

“The other half?” 

“To get better at talking to people. We aren’t all as charming as you.” 

“Aww, you think I’m charming, Davey?”

“I don’t think you need me to inflate your ego.”

“Well I think you’re plenty charming too, Davey.” He moves himself so he’s sitting a little closer to Davey, so that there’s barely any distance between them. “You charmed the hell out of me just by demanding that I order something.” 

“Do you flirt with everyone?” Davey looks a little dejected. 

“Only the people I like,” and really, it would’ve been the perfect moment to kiss him, close the small distance between them and if it was anybody but Davey, he thinks he would’ve, but Davey’s something else, someone he wants to know more about, someone he doesn’t want to rush into something with, “What did Kath talk to you about?” 

Davey’s face is a little flushed and his words come out hesitant, “She just told me that she doesn’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Jack rolls his eyes, pushes down the frustration he feels toward Katherine because he’s more than capable of taking care of his own feelings, has been doing so long before he even knew Katherine, “She’s a tad overprotective.” 

“Were you two ever-,” he clears his throat, “did you two-”

“Ever date? Someone’s overly interested in my romantic history.” He laughs, “Yeah, we did. For a couple months. Spark wasn’t really there, you know?”

Davey waits a couple seconds before shaking his head, shrinking in on himself a little, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never, uh, been in a relationship or really done anything.”

That honestly surprises Jack, because Davey’s cute and while he may not resonate confidence, Jack would definitely classify him as a catch. And there’s so many lines that he could deliver, so many easy ways to flirt with Davey with that kind of opening, but Jack just settles on a small smile, “Maybe we should head out. Medda loves me, but who knows if she feels the same about you,” Jack teases. “I can walk you home.” 

Davey looks like he’s about to protest the latter part of Jack’s statement, but Jack’s not having it, “The customer’s always right.” 

He sees Davey hide a smile before he runs behind the counter to close up, coming back a couple minutes later, coffee in hand, “I made you this since you didn’t get one today because Katherine came.” 

It’s thoughtful, really, but Jack can’t help but curse the damn thing. He thought he’d be able to get through the day without having to drink any, but Davey’s holding the cup out expectedly, so Jack has to take it. Davey went through all that trouble. He takes a sip, holds back the flinch, “Thanks Davey.”

Jack grabs Davey’s hand and holds it the whole way to Davey’s house. He counts it as a win, coffee be damned. 

After that, it sort of becomes a routine. He stays after closing, gets a free coffee (much to his displeasure especially considering he already has to buy one during the day), holds Davey’s hand as he walks him home, never going any further than that. A blurred line between friendship and something else, Jack not wanting to push Davey into something too fast in fear of ruining it, Davey too nervous to actually go any further. It only takes two weeks for Race to catch on. 

“There’s something different about you, Jack,” he brings up when the two of them are alone in their apartment. Jack doesn’t know where Spot is, finds it strange that Spot isn’t here because Jack can’t honestly remember the last time he’s been in a room with Race without Spot attached to his mouth, “You haven’t been home much.” 

“Needed a place to draw without hearing you getting off every couple minutes.” It comes out curt, more aggressive than he had intended.

Race ignores the aggression; there’s worry in his tone, “Where’ve you been going, Jack?" 

There’s implications in that statement, implications that Jack’s doing his best to ignore, “Just been drawing somewhere. That’s it. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

Race looks like he doesn’t believe Jack for a second, “If this is about me falling short on rent, Jack, I don’t know what you want me to do.”

And Jack snaps, “I don’t care about the rent. This is about you and your boyfriend having sex so fucking loud that I can’t concentrate. That’s all this fucking is and it’s not whatever big deal you’re making it into.” 

Jack knows Race well enough to know that Race doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been good at dealing with more emotional, serious situations where humor doesn’t really have a place and maybe if Jack wasn’t so angry, he would care a little more that his friend’s going out of his comfort zone because he’s worried about Jack, but right now, Jack doesn’t care. He goes to his room and finds the first bottle of alcohol he sees - whiskey, apparently - and just drinks.

It’s a bad habit, something he hasn’t done in a while, something he rarely does, but he’s drunk a decent portion of the bottle, feels himself less in control, feels more tipsy and a little floaty. He manages to sneak out of his apartment without Race knowing and doesn’t even really know where he’s going until he’s realized that he’s standing next to Davey’s house, the walk there almost muscle memory at this point. 

There’s some part of him that’s trying to stop him from knocking, from seeing Davey when he’s drunk, but that part seems to be overruled by the rest of him because he’s knocking on the door within seconds. 

“Jack?” his voice is quiet, confused, “What are you doing here?” 

He just giggles a little in response, “Was just in the neighborhood.” 

“At two in the morning?” Jack trips slightly in response, “Wait, Jack, are you drunk?” 

“Probably.” He’s smiling, looking at Davey, who looks really cute in this lighting, just the moon above them. “You look really pretty.”

Davey blushes, “Just come inside, but don’t be too loud. My parents and brother and sister are sleeping.” 

Jack’s pretty sure he can handle that. When they make it up to Davey’s room, Jack takes a seat on Davey’s bed and just allows himself to take it all in, because it’s just so Davey, neat and orderly, the Star Trek posters, the pride poster. He thinks it might be nice to have Davey hang up one of his drawings in here, “You know I’ve been drawing you, part of the reason I didn’t want to show you.” 

Davey sits next to Jack, still slightly red, “You’re more coherent than I’d figured you’d be when you’re drunk.”

“That mean you think about me drunk often?” He gives Davey a sly smile. “I’m just more touchy and less guarded.” He lays down on Davey’s bed, staring at the ceiling and he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised that Davey has those glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to the ceiling. “You ever hear about Santa Fe?” 

Davey lies down next to Jack, takes ahold of his hand, “New Mexico?” 

“Always wanted to go there, dreamed about it since I was a kid. Something so special about it, so beautiful. It’s why I always paint it, you know?” Davey stays silent, just letting Jack talk. “I was just going to go, escaping this goddamn town, escaping the dirty looks from the people who knew my dad, knew what he did to my mom, their whispers about where the bastard’s child would find a place to live now that his no good father’s in jail.” He feels Davey squeeze his hand a little, feels Davey inch closer to him on the bed. “Santa Fe doesn’t have all that baggage. Just open fields and houses made out of clay.” 

Davey goes still next to him, but Jack just smiles, “You could come with me, Davey,” and he says it like it’s so simple, because with Davey lying next to him, glow-in-the-dark stars above them, it seems like it is. 

His eyelids are starting to feel heavy and no matter how much he tries, he can’t force himself to keep them open to look at Davey anymore. Jack falls asleep in Davey’s bed with vague memories of him asking, “What even are we to each other, Jack?”

The headache wakes him up in the morning, Davey still next to him asleep, Jack’s arm draped over him. He allows himself a minute to just stare at him, take in the boy’s more relaxed appearance and Jack thinks it’s a bit of a crime that he’s going to have to wake Davey up, desperately wants to get a pencil and paper just to capture how Davey looks when he’s at peace. He has to settle for the memory of it only and nudges him slightly, “Hey Dave.”

Davey squirms a little, “Don’t have to get up. Don’t have work and it’s summer.” He snuggles into Jack’s arm.

He figures he’ll let Davey sleep for a couple more minutes before Jack has to get up and deal with the inevitable shitstorm he’s going to face when he gets back to his apartment. Sighing, he  grabs his phone and he’s not surprised that he has over forty missed messages and calls, mainly from Race, Spot, and Katherine. He only replies to Katherine. 

_I’m fine. Went to Davey’s. Sorry to worry you.  
_**[Sent 8:30 am]**  

_Jack Kelly! You better call Race to let him know you’re okay. It was selfish of you to run off last night. You need to talk to him. He’s your best friend, Jack.. We all are. And you can talk to us. Get that through that thick skull of yours.  
_ **[Received 8:31 am]**

_I’m really glad you’re okay though. You really had me worried.  
_ **[Received 8:31 am]**

_And when I’m not so mad at you, I expect full updates on the David situation if you apparently are already sleeping at his place.  
_ **[Received 8:32 am]**

_Going to see Race now.  
_ **[Sent 8:33 am]**

He leaves a note so Davey’s not confused that he’s gone, emphasizes that he’ll drop into the coffee shop during Davey’s next shift. It feels oddly like walking out on a one-night stand and there’s some regret as he walks down the fire-escape, avoiding Davey’s family, but Race is practically his family and he can’t keep avoiding his forever.

Spot’s the one who greets him when he finally gets back, fuming, “You irresponsible fuck. We aren’t here to be babysitters, Kelly.”

And Jack knows he shouldn’t fight back, knows that he probably can’t win this one, but that doesn’t stop him, “Didn’t ask you to babysit me, Spot. Just let me talk to Race.”

Jack’s defiance only increases Spot’s aggression, “You think I’d let you see him?”

“Forbidding me to see him?” he snorts, “Thought you weren’t here to be anyone’s babysitter?” 

Jack feels himself hit the wall behind him, Spot pushing him into it, “You really ought to shut your damn mouth.” 

Before Jack can even respond, Race is there, pulling the two of them apart, “This is ridiculous. Spot be glad that Jack’s not dead and then we can move onto what a jackass Jack is.” 

Jack stays silent much to the frustration of Race. “Look Jack, you had us really worried, okay? You ran out of here last night, drunk, without so much of a word and you weren’t with any of our friends. We thought something happened.” 

And that’s what makes Jack break, makes the guilt pour in. His voice breaks a little, “Race, I’m sorry.” 

“You better be,” Spot murmurs before Race elbows him to shut him up.

“Just call us next time and let us know where you are so I don’t have to stay up the whole night worrying about if the cops had found you,” Race says and Jack realizes how disheveled he actually looks, the bags under his eyes, the fact that he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday and Jack’s pretty sure he’s a terrible friend. Race’s voice cracks when he speaks again, “I know that we’re used to losing people, Jack, but I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you..”

“Other than not be able to pay rent?” he jokes, pulling Race in for a hug, “Ain’t going anywhere." 

Spot looks away from the two of them, arms crossed, “Glad you’re okay, Jack.” 

And he thinks that Race and Spot might want to push more information out of him, figure out where he even went, but they leave it and if he’s honest, he’s a little grateful. Spot and Race would no doubt have a field day if they heard about Davey and Jack’s pathetic pining. His mind drifts when he starts to think of Davey, frowns when he realizes it’s two days until Davey’s next shift and he has to wonder when he started knowing Davey’s work schedule and when exactly he started planning his week around it. 

He goes to teach his art class the next afternoon with Davey on his mind and he tries to start the lesson, something about soft and hard paint brush strokes, but one of the kids, his favorite (though he’d never admit that), Les, stops him, smile wide, before he can even start, “Jack! My brother’s coming to pick me up today because he doesn’t have work. You can finally meet him!”

And he had forgotten Les’ desperation to play matchmaker in the couple days he had off, doesn’t really know how to tell him that he’s not interested in his older brother; he’s only really been interested in one person as of late. He regrets the couple of times he encouraged it in the beginning of the year, “Wasn’t aware your brother had anything to do with different paint brush strokes, Les.” 

Les laughs and drags Jack to his easel, “Look, I pictured him!” 

Jack nods, looking at Les’ work, even pretends to consider it. “Hmm tempting, but not really sure I’m into dating stick figures.”   

“We aren’t all artistic stars like you. Jack!” Les pouts before suddenly smirking, sticking his hand in the paint and throwing it at Jack’s face. 

Jack’s not super proud to admit that the rest of the lesson devolves into a paint fight with the kids and of course, he’s the one they gang up one and it’s only a matter of minutes before he’s covered in paint. With the paint flying, so does the time and Jack’s really not aware that class time is over until he hears someone clear their throat, “Les? It’s time to go home.” 

And Jack knows that voice, known it since it told him to buy some coffee or leave. “Davey?” he voices at the same time Les grins, “Jack, meet my brother!” 

Davey looks as shocked as Jack feels, “Jack? You’re teaching Les’ art classes?” 

“You two already know each other?” Les’ grin only grows and then turns to face Davey, exaggerated frown plastered on his face. “I’m the one who made the room get covered in paint so it’s only fair that we stay back to help Jack clean.”

Jack’s a little thankful for Les in that moment, especially when Davey sighs and agrees and if Jack were a responsible adult maybe he would start cleaning right away, but instead he waits for the other kids to leave, waits for Les to look away, takes a paintbrush and paints a line straight down the line of Davey’s face, “Figured you wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun your brother just had.”

There’s a couple seconds of silence before Davey’s mouth twitches upward and he’s found paint to throw right back at Jack, Les fading in the background to let the two of them interact on their own. 

And Jack feels so light, chasing after Davey, laughing, paint in hand, feels happy. Hearing Davey laugh too, seeing him relaxed, comfortable around him is something Jack’s not even sure that he really deserves. Still he lets himself enjoy it, revel in it, tackling Davey to the ground, hands on either side of Davey’s head, his body practically on-top of Davey’s, completely pinning him to the ground, “You can’t beat an artist at his own game.” 

Davey doesn’t say anything, just stares at Jack’s lips.

If Jack’s honest, he’s sick of taking things so slow and he figures that’s as good as an invitation as any so Jack just kisses him, slow and soft, because he doesn’t know if it’s Davey’s first or not, ignores the slight taste of paint that accompanies it. Davey kisses back and Jack thinks Davey’s a bit of a natural. 

He hears Les cheering in the background and it’s enough for Davey to break the kiss, his face tinting slightly red, “That was…” 

“Yeah,” Jack gives him a dopey smile before he stands up, helping Davey up too. “Also don’t worry about helping clean. You and Les don’t have to stay.”

Davey looks like he’s about to protest, so Jack speaks up before he can. “I just think our next conversation should happen in the absence of your brother. I’ll see you at Medda’s tomorrow.” 

Davey’s practically radiating sunshine. “I’ll have your order waiting!” and even the mention of that disgusting coffee can’t ruin Jack’s mood right now. “C’mon Les. Let’s go home.” He hears Les cheering about Jack joining the family on the way out. 

He gets there a couple minutes before Davey’s shift starts, has to stop himself from entering the shop the second Davey starts to hide his slight desperation and just paces around the block for a little bit. It’s not his finest moment but when he watches Davey’s face light up when he enters so he can’t really bring himself to care and he idly wonders why he never got to the coffee shop earlier on any other day. 

Davey’s still grinning when Jack reaches the front of the line, “You’re here earlier than normal.” 

“I heard there was a cute barista working here and had to see myself if it was true.” 

Davey looks down, slightly flushed, like he still hasn’t gotten used to Jack, and stammers a bit over his words, “Do you need an extra shot to wake you up a little more?” 

Jack’s about to reply when the customer behind him speaks up, “Oi, stop flirting with the barista. Some of us have places to be.” 

And Jack is suddenly hit with the realization as to why he’s never come here earlier, the realization that other people he knows frequent this very shop and turns his head around to see the customer, “Spot?”   

Spot's anger seems to morph into confusion, “Jack? You fucking hate coffee, what are you even doing here?” Spot’s eyes land on Davey and he burst out laughing, “Oh god, you’re pathetic, Jack.” 

Someone else clears their throat behind Spot, “Maybe you guys can carry this conversation out somewhere else, because most of us really don’t care.”

Davey, growing increasingly embarrassed, stammers out an apology. “So you don’t want the coffee after all?” 

Jack shakes his head, “I’ll pay for whatever Spot’s getting. Hopefully it’ll save me from some of the hell him and Race are going to give me later.” Spot smiles like he’s won the lottery as he leaves the coffee shop with whatever stupid drink that Jack just paid for in hand and Jack wants to hate him for it, but he really can’t. Spot’s saved him from every having to taste that shit again.

He goes to his usual table and brings out his sketchbook, waiting for Davey’s break. When Davey finally does join him, he sets a drink on the table in front of them them. Davey grins, “I made you your usual. I know how much you love it.”

Jack stares at the tortured thing incredulously, “Please don’t make me drink that.” 

Davey feigns hurt, but Jack can see Davey fighting the urge to break and smile, “It would be impolite not to. It was on the house and I made it just the way you like it.”

“It’s a good thing I like you more than I hate this coffee,” Jack forces himself to down it, taking it like a shot again and it’s like the first time he met Davey all over again, except this time Davey doesn’t laugh. This time, Davey looks nervous, hesitant.

“You really like me?”

“You think I’d have drank coffee everyday for just anyone? Of course, I like you, you idiot. Really like you if I’m honest.”

Davey looks like he’s somewhere in between throwing up and smiling, “Me too. I,” he takes a deep breath and Jack feels Davey hold his hand under the table, “I really like you too.”

And Jack can’t stop himself. He kisses him right then and there.

Even with the taste of coffee lingering in his mouth, it’s still kind of perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Also low key sorry that Crutchie is not in this. He was a originally, but then he became a subplot of angst and I couldn't keep it in because I had no way of resolving it and he deserved better. So let's jut say in the future, Jack meets Crutchie and they become best friends.


End file.
